


you've got the best, boy

by feathered (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, X-Factor, handjob, i guess i'm just writing short lil things for now, idk hope u like !!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:37:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/feathered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Louis’ music-box voice, whisper-soft in the dark.</p>
<p>“Haz I- Can I kiss you? I really want to.”</p>
<p>It’s Harry’s heart rabbiting in his ribcage because Louis is so sugar sweet and lovely and he’s wanted this since day one. It’s assent and it’s a gentle brush of lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you've got the best, boy

**Author's Note:**

> almost every single sentence starts w/ "it's" wow i'm so sorry. also it's 4 in the morning and i just wrote this so i'm sure there's mistakes pls forgive me. 
> 
> (tumblr is treslouis if u want 2 pop by)
> 
> title from 'summer nights' by florrie

Harry thinks that overcrowded house is everything. It’s the beginning, the maybe this isn’t exactly platonic and maybe friends don’t do this and maybe we’re something more than friends. It’s Louis slipping into his bunk at two in the morning, fitting his body to the curve of Harry’s back and nuzzling into his hair until he stirs and twists in Louis’ arms. It’s the tangle of limbs and torsos flush and the glint of blue eyes and an uncharacteristically shy, rosy-cheeked smile. It’s Louis’ music-box voice, whisper-soft in the dark.

“Haz I- Can I kiss you? I really want to.”

It’s Harry’s heart rabbiting in his ribcage because Louis is so sugar sweet and lovely and he’s wanted this since day one. It’s assent and it’s a gentle brush of lips.

It’s that very first kiss, gravity failing and Harry spinning into freefall, where the only tangible thing is the light pressure of Louis’ lips, soft and warm and slotting perfectly between his own. It’s delicate fingers twirling in wispy curls at the nape of his neck and delicate fingers tracing swirl patterns on exposed hipbone. It’s the shiver that races down Harry’s spine at the sensation of skin on skin, even to such a chaste degree as this, his arms winding easily around Louis’ slim waist, like they were made to do it. It’s his own fingers inching up worn cotton to press into bare skin, velvety smooth and so _so_ hot. It’s Louis’ warmth and the little whine he makes at the touch and the plush of his lips; he’s perfect and this is perfect, two boys intertwined, sharing body heat and soft, languid kisses and breathing each other in.

It’s the look on Louis’ face when their lips finally separate, a look that words can’t quite describe but Harry thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. It’s his lips, glistening red and swollen and mussed caramel fringe hanging in his eyes; he’s dulce de leche and chocolate cherries and Harry wantswantswants – wants him today and tomorrow and the day after that and every day until the earth is enveloped by a fiery sun.

“Mmm, wanna kiss you forever.”

It’s the feeling Harry gets at the word _forever_ , because forever is infinite and terrifying but he imagines spending forever with this stunningly radiant boy and the word sits warm and fuzzy inside his chest.

It’s the fact that Harry’s too overwhelmed and breathless to speak but Louis doesn’t seem to need him to, cuddling into him and peppering his collarbones with feather-light kisses that slowly turn him to meltwater.

It’s later and another kiss as Louis draws his heat away, climbs up to his own bunk because they may be more-than-friends but they’re the only ones who know, for now. It’s okay though, because Harry can hear the rhythmic breathing above him, the soft snoring he’s come to know, and every inch of his skin is still tingling, sizzling with _Louis_ , and Louis kissed him and Louis wants to kiss him forever and he thinks that’s all he needs.

~

Harry thinks the coming weeks are everything. It’s a whirlwind of hot stage lights and music pounding through his veins and singing his throat raw and the house slowly emptying but he’s still there. It’s a little bit too much, at times, because he _is_ still there, _him, s_ ixteen-year-old Harry Styles hailing from bakery-land, and this is more than even his wildest dreams could conjure and he feels like his heart is ready to just fly out of his chest. It’s Zayn and Niall and Liam and Louis managing to keep him centered, somehow, even though they’re all equally breathless and starry-eyed. It’s mostly Louis, though.

It’s Louis everywhere, spinning and sparkling through Harry’s head like a comet, cruising the speed of light. It’s his crackly voice and his warm-vanilla smell and his fluffy hair and his golden-honey skin and his aura, bright sunny yellow, laughter radiating from a sharp-toothed smile. It’s this fireball of a boy crawling into Harry’s headspace because Harry unzipped his skin and welcomed him inside. It’s Harry wondering if Louis dazzles the rest of them, too, and coming to the conclusion that yeah, he probably does.

It’s his lips, always attached to Harry’s, gentle and sweet kisses because he promised. It’s chaste pecks every time he so much as blinks, in the empty kitchen as Harry pops bread into the toaster, on the sofa when Liam, Zayn, and Niall pause the movie and tromp off to make themselves ice cream sundaes, in vacant hallways after vocal rehearsals, tucked away in backstage shadows before their names are announced and it’s time to face the camera flashes and appraising eyes.

It’s Louis’ body crashing into his at the end of each and every performance, drawn together like magnets and holding tight, ignoring the _blinkwhir_ of rolling film. It’s a little hand clutching at the dip of Harry’s waist and his smile stretching to cherubic proportions because he knows he gets to kiss Louis breathless later. He likes that he can make Louis breathless.

~

It’s midnight and Harry pressing Louis up against the bathroom door. (It’s the fact that Harry’s two years younger and still a bit smaller, but he gets to trap Louis’ body with his own because Louis wants him to.) It’s Harry licking into Louis’ mouth like the world might end and he thinks if it did, right then, he wouldn’t mind so much.  It’s the supernovas that burst behind Harry’s  closed eyelids when Louis digs fingernails into his hips and pulls them in to meet his own.

It’s both of them, so hard in their pyjama pants and wanting so _so_ much but not knowing where to begin. It’s new and thrilling and overwhelmingly frightening, is the thing.

It’s Louis’ voice when he speaks, desperation that makes Harry’s eyes roll back in his head.

“Harry – _shit_ – please – touch me?”

It’s the way he says it like a question, like he thinks Harry might not want to.

It’s the way his head slams into the flimsy wooden door when Harry trails his fingers beneath elastic and palms him through his boxers. It’s his tongue dragging slowly along the line of Louis’ neck, sweat-salty and smooth, as his hand slips past a second waistband to bare skin.

It’s the way his eyes fly open, then, a whine tumbling from his lips, still slick and kiss-swollen. It’s his pupils, dark and glassy and blown wide, and his hands move from Harry’s hipbones to his ass, kneading at naked flesh so roughly he must be leaving bruises. It’s the fact that Harry doesn’t care _at all_ , because he’s got deft hands on his ass and Louis’ length is heavy and leaking against his palm and he feels drunk from it.

“ _Harry.”_

It’s Louis’ rendition of his name, raspy and so completely wrecked and he thinks he doesn’t want to hear it spoken any other way.

It’s his head, dizzy and swimming, warm, Caribbean blue because he’s making Louis react this way. _Louis_. It’s almost too much to take and Harry thinks he’s definitely getting off on this, too.

It’s Louis’ face when he comes, minutes later, eyes squeezed shut beneath furrow brows, head tipped back, sweat in his fringe and mouth hanging slack, breathy gasps curling into the air like smoke. He’s _stunning_. Harry gapes as Louis spills messily into his hand, and then he’s spilling messily into his own boxers.  

It’s Louis’ body, shuddering and collapsing from it, leaning into Harry like he needs to be held up, and suddenly Harry isn’t embarrassed that he just came in his pants without being touched once.

It’s fingers laced against the back of his neck, moments later, foreheads pressed together, Louis’ smile stretched sugar-sweet against flushed cheekbones. It’s his voice, soft like that very first time, when he asked if he could.

“Think m’gonna fall in love with you, Harry.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
